Hetalia: Kallistrate's Chronicles
by Triple-A-XD-XP
Summary: My first official fanfic, ever. Love Hetalia, so I wanted to put my OC in there and see how it goes. Sorry that my first post is so short, I literally just typed it all now, hahaha. Mitera'Rosia, in Greek, means "Mother Russia"; it's an ongoing joke. Kallisrate is a renowned country set between Turkey and Greece. Kallistrate is, to quickly mention, Greece's older sister. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Kallistrate's regards and Ivan's burdens

"Mitera'Rosia!"

Mitera Rosia (or better known outside the house as Kallistrate), busy drawing in her sketchbook by the open door, shouted back, "Da?"

It was Ukraine who called her. Mitera Rosia could tell that she ran all the way from the top floor upstairs by her exaggerated wheezes, contrasted from the hushed brisk winter outside. With a pouty face from her now-interrupted work, Mitera Rosia lay her pencil lightly at the corner brim of the patio's border, sketchbook still nestled in her lap, and looked up with a sigh, "Yes, Ukraine?"

Ukraine, noticing her intrusion, already began fiddling with one of her straps and answered, "It is my brother, Russia. He would like to talk to you about-"

Mitera Rosia silenced her gently by the raise of her hand, "I'll be right there."

Another sigh escaped, and the huffed breath whirled out the door into the cold air of upcoming winter. She got up unhurriedly, and causally, in spite of a clasp of sudden wind, out of the blue. Mitera Rosia shut the door tightly, preventing the new falling snow from reaching inside. She swiftly shook at her black dress and Lolita overcoat from the snow specks, and swiped her beloved sketchbook and pencil graciously from the tiled ground. She placed the book and utensil at a nearby tabletop, and, after straightening her white stockings, Mitera Rosia jogged past Ukraine and up the stairs.

_Is he finally coming to his senses?_ She thought bitterly as she picked up pace by the second set of stairs. In irritated silence, she lifted her dress as to not trip to the following steps, for the lagging was threatening to do so, and her snow boots were dense at every lift. She could already hear Russia, now, from the next flight of stairs. Curious at once, Mitera Rosia crept as soundlessly as possible at each step, trying to perceive his words. He spoke in Russian, no doubt, and it seemed to be over the telephone, for she could hear no other voice reply to his own.

Mitera Rosia finally reached the top floor, excluding those noiseless steps, she continued listening in on Russia's conversation. It was intense, surely, for his soft voice was unexpectedly muddled in anger, and she could not figure out why. He effectively invaded Poland not too long ago, the poor country. Mitera Rosia's sympathy could never extend to Russia's own, but this did not require wrath in the current circumstances. Yet, before she could wonder more about this quandary, she reached the door at the origin of his voice. She peeked in and saw him with, indeed, a phone handle in hand. With a restraining stammer, he finished off the call with a rushed goodbye "Dasvidaniya…"

Mitera Rosia saw her chance to step in, and did so, with a tender hello, "Privet, Russia. You wanted to talk?"

"Da." He said simply, and hung up the phone properly at its place. She couldn't hide her concern, "What was that call about?"

"Yeto maloebuchi 'fakto…"

_It is not important._

"Oh." She said, saddened already to be kept things hidden from her. To be blunt, she's been stuck here, in this huge, cold, pitiless house, with him for a decade at present. The fallen country would think, by now, her dear Russia would have some trust in her. After all, despite his invasion and seize of her land before, Mitera Rosia learned Russian just for him- as well as mutual acceptance for his older sister, Ukraine, and restraint from the eerie Belarus lurking at abrupt instants around the home.

The thought imposed a disgusted frown on her face, and she turned to the window at the left to conceal it. The glass was frothed by the ice outside, making it quite hard to discern anything in view. She walked up and, with her fleecy sleeve of her coat, rubbed away a circle of clarity to the window. Mitera Rosia gazed out to the white forest landscape graved before her. Even now, in the start of World War 2, the sight was still wonderful.

They were both silent for some time. She finally spoke up, turning away from the window and now scanning her eyes across one of the old bookcases behind Russia, "I haven't been out in a week. Please, Russia-"

"You almost ran away last time." He interrupted, his tone suddenly indifferent. She disregarded the accusation, "I just miss my brother, that's all. Please? If I can't see him, can I at least venture out in the countryside? Trust me…"

He was facing down at some papers at the desk. She noted the messy pile of maps at the corner of the table; comprehending that this truly was a war, in any case of Russia having to actually sit and strategize. Walking to the bookcase at the right now, she strummed her gloved fingers at each binding, "Please trust me…"

He made no answer, but that childish smile stuck on his face. Mitera Rosia's stroll reached him, but he didn't not move away from her path to the next shelf. She stopped and cupped her hands, smiling as charmingly as she could, "I promise not to leave past Romania."

She wasn't trying to seduce him, her goal was to indicate her gracious quality to his liking. He made it a tenet to act stern and sovereign when guest visited, so Mitera Rosia made it a habit to cease smiling. It was nice to let out a little compassion, though, once in a while.

"Ivan…" she sighed, grabbing one end of his scarf. This caught his attention, and she continued, "I promised you my land if you did not harm Greece. He is not harmed, so therefore I have no reason to leave. I think you know me well enough know to realize I don't commit acts and things for no particular reason and I don't go back on my word…"

He laughed at her kind approach, "Fine, 'rosia, leave. But be back soon! I do not want to be left alone in the house with Belarus again."

She laughed at this as well, letting go of his long white scarf, "Spasibo!" with a bow for added appreciation. With this, he shooed her away and seized the phone for another call. She contentedly wandered out of the office, taking no glance back to see that childish smirk of his disappear.

Belarus, startlingly, was at the base of the stairs, and frightened meager Mitera Rosia when she glanced up. Mercifully, she caught herself in time from any fall and, with an awkward smile, she asked, "Ah, Natalia…eh, am I in your way?"

Before Belarus could answer, Mitera Rosia bowed in apology (a habit she has never really outgrown ever since she and Japan separated) and leaned back to give her more room. Belarus stared for a moment, her stony cobalt-tinted eyes piercing against Mitera Rosia's jaded hue, and finally replied, "No. What is he doing up there?"

She gazed up the stairs and back to Belarus, "Oh, you mean Russia? He's quite busy actually, making some calls; probably with his boss." She tried to walk away, but Belarus quickly snatched the Lolita coat's hood, yanking the small country back and stumbling to keep balance. Belarus was obviously not satisfied with the answer, "Busy… what are you off to?"

Mitera Rosia, growing aggravated, mainly by the country's rash action of pulling her back, dropped her pleasant smile, "Off to visit a friend. Please, I need all the time I have. And I feel I am wasting yours with this pointless chatter."

Belarus nonchalantly let go, and Mitera Rosia walked off again. She didn't mean to be blunt but Belarus's odd bipolar shortcomings were something she did not have the time to deal with at the moment. She sauntered out the door heedlessly and parted the house without any goodbyes. By the time she reached the large iron gate, she turned back and gazed up to the top story windows, intending to see the office window. She did, but the chafing frost coated over once more, obscuring her view to the inside. With a shrug, she unbolted the gate, ignoring its elongated shrill of rusted hinges and iced bars, and shut it securely. Some icicles fell from the trembled close, and Mitera Rosia scanned across the snow to the white sodden path before her. It split to two lanes, and out of vibrant memory, she knew where to go. Amid a returned smile, she decidedly walked to the left trail. She chuckled to herself, "Off to see Germany!"

sappear.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Kallistrate's Espousal and Spain's Benevolence

Of course Kallistrate had to help out. After all, she and Spain have been best friends since they were kids!

Greece, lazily sitting by the door, turned his head to his beloved big sister, watching her put on her heavy war coat. He didn't really know what to say exactly. He already knew her intentions, especially with that fiery passion of hers to thrash out righteousness to the nations closest to her. Still… last night, out of protection for her, he tried his hardest to change her mind about the war she was getting involved in.

_I'll try again, I suppose_… he thought.

"Athanasia…"

She turned to him, a sullen frown set upon her maiden face, "Yes, brother?"

He saw her fumbling with the buttons to her coat, and instead of arguing, kindly asked, "Do you need help?"

She smiled favorably by his offer, "Yes… I haven't worn this coat in so long, I think the buttons are eroded out, or something."

Greece got up leisurely, setting down one of his cats on a cushion, and helped Athanasia with the coat. Indeed, the battle she charged in wearing this same outfit had rained across the field, therefore rusting the buttons and coursing the string of the tightens inside. He cautiously undid each button again, as she straightened out knots at the bottom brims of the war coat.

Whilst doing this, Greece looked at her sister and sighed, "How long will you be gone?"

She stared back at his teal eyes and replied with confidence, "Long enough to help out Spain. I don't know what he got himself into but as a friend, I promised to help him and-"

"I know." He smoothly interrupted, shaking away some settling dust that rested on her shoulder blades. She sighed now, "If you know, Heracles, why continue asking?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he turned her manually in silence to begin tying back the coat with a loose dreary ribbon. Its shredded threads ruined the red shine it once held; it used to compliment the perfectly aligned buttons and tucked straps at her waist.

She continued, "All will be fine. Besides, Prussia needs a good kick in the head after all the trouble he has caused. That conceited bastard has this coming, I'm sure."

Heracles could tell just by her cursing these past couple of weeks that she was rather serious about this quarrel. With one even knot, he taut the ends of the trimming in place.

The ribbon was tied securely, now leaving more curves of her hips and less bungles of the clothing's folds. The tail of the coat was frayed but, at a distance, the glorious aged coat appeared still strikingly eye-catching. Without another word, Heracles leaned in and hugged his older sister. Granted, he was taller and stronger, but she surpassed the differences and hugged him back.

"Take care of Constantine for me, okay?" she said, pulling away and laying a hand on her cat. The little feline purred at her touch and stretched its black tainted paws against the felt of the sofa it lay on. Heracles glanced at the black and white cat and nodded, "Okay."

"If anything happens to me, I'm sure Spain will be the first to tell you." She finished, heading for the door. Another nod from Heracles, as he took one last look at Athanasia. The coat was uniformly matched with her dusky trousers, commending the black and white theme of her coat and red undershirt, as well as her coarse ashen war boots. The only other color that really stood out from the red-black array was the silver glints of the pins and buttons. Before walking out the door, she straightened her rosy-tinted cuffs and began pulling her side-swept bangs from her unwavering, jaded eyes. Greece took a step to help once more, but she was already finished -her luscious brunette curls tamed to set at the back. She turned to him again, saluted formally with a smile, and left, closing the door gently behind her. Her younger brother sighed, left alone in his home again with his cats.

Before Kallistrate even reached Spain's land, she had to avoid his flirtatious neighbor, France, entirely. Sadly, the dignified maiden failed.

She was heading over a peak in the recent-approached hills when that dreaded voice of his was heard a couple yards away, "Kallistrate, is that you?"

Kallistrate froze in her steps, remembering quite well the last time she spoke to 'beloved' France, _Never again shall I be treated so trivially_! She waited good-naturedly as the Frenchman wandered over to her. Yet, before he could reach out his arms to bear a hug, she swiped out her great sword (though it was ineludibly drawn). A yielding smack against France's chest at such promptness made him speechless. She realized her rash doing and, with a polite leer, withdrew her sheathed sword, "My apologies, Francis. But you know how much I dislike touch-"

The haughty country interrupted with a nonchalant chuckle, "I was simply going for a hug, madam…"

She discounted his intention, "Well, I'm off to Spa-"

"To Antonio's? I will join you soon-"

Now she interrupted, "If you shall do so, then please, let me be off now as to not waste any more time."

Kallistrate loathed wasting time, if it wasn't apparent enough.

She headed down the hill, and to her distress, he followed, "In such a rush, I see? It's a long walk, let me accompany such a lovely lady, no?"

She sighed, presuming it was better that he was in her sight instead of any eerie stalking, and trotted down the steep side a little faster, "Why ask so many questions?"

The lovely lady wasn't fond of questions either…

Francis laughed once more, "You have quite the temper, mon amie…"

"And you remind me so much of hunter, Narkissos." She retorted coldly.

Francis, having a hard time follow her quickened pace, looked at her with incomprehension, in which she explained in greater detail, "My mother used to tell Heracles and I stories from her mother, Archaia Ellada. The great and attractive hunter, Narkissos, was blighted when Nemesis cast his reflection to a nearing pool of water. The pitiful man fell in love with himself and, with egotistic adoration for his own beauty, died because he could not bear leave his very reflection. And you remind me of him."

Kallistrate was usually polite to most countries, especially Francis (who truly did not tend any harm, in spite of his provocative hugs and fondles), but not today. For some facetious reason, however, Francis did not falter his smile, "Ahaha, so you see me as a gorgeous man of great beauty I hold? Very flattering, Athanasia!"

Athanasia gave up immediately and, thankfully, could perceive Antonio's house at the horizon. She sighed in relief, for the yawning sky was growing darker, as shades of red and orange swirled to deep hues of indigo and lilac bursts. With one hand by her sword, and the other shielding her eyes from the suns setting rays, she gazed to the east to get a better look at the upcoming swelling clouds; hesitating from her path for a brief minute. Francis joined her, enjoying the passing breeze by running his fingers through his charming blonde hair. Athanasia, seeming to be off in a better mood, snickered at this and ruffled his hair at a safe distance, "Francis, really, cut that hair! It's too long!"

He was baffled at her mood change, but did not argue, "You cannot resist these wavy locks, so obvious."

She was off again down the path, and her own chocolate-hued hair bounced a little at every step, as Francis noticed, "Resist? Ha! I can assure you, resisting is something I can and will always attain. You, on the other hand, need some work when it comes to restraint."

He leaned closer, whining, "Restraint, that is a word I merely cannot understand."

"By all means, let me sing out the meaning for you…" She huffed in sarcasm. He didn't get the hint, "Ah, cherie, I love a woman who can sing!"

She didn't dare let any more closing space between them pass, "Must I remind you, 'Frog', that I am much older than you?"

Francis was struck at the callous nickname reiterated from her. Athanasia once walked passed England and France, going about another argument together, when England gave him such an anomalous animal name as an insult. She figured now was the time to use it. But, as always, France laughed, "I admire any passionate woman, regardless of age."

Before Athanasia could feel any more uncomfortable, they reached Antonio's open porch. Expectedly, she was awaiting Antonio to welcome her personally; granted a lively hello to Francis, too. But there was no sight of him, and before they came up the timber steps to the house, Monaco stormed out the front door.

The two girls bumped into each other, and Monaco's glasses fell to the lush-grassed floor. Athanasia unintentionally gasped from the impact and, in all politeness, hastily bent down to grab the younger countries spectacles at once, "Oh dear, I'm very sorry."

Monaco reached a hand out for her glasses, "Many apologies on my part… Kallistrate!" she raised as she placed the glasses gently at the brim of her supple petite nose, now looking up at the older country, and glanced to the right to notice Francis as well.

Without giving Francis a chance to say anything, Monaco huffed, "Please, Kallistrate, keep these two safe, especially France."

Francis smirked with a wink, "You should be asking _me_ to protect-"

"Oh please," Monaco rolled her eyes, "You were the one who pleaded for the Spaniard's help in the first place!"

"Is he inside?" Athanasia asked, trying to change the subject to more important matters. Monaco was about to answer, but Francis interrupted by patting her head dotingly, "Petite soeur, what are you doing at Antonio's place at a time like this?"

She batted his hand away, humiliated by the way he was now treating her, and scoffed, "Just trying to make sense on why he would help you. I know you're losing this war but…" she didn't finish and, instead, turned to Athanasia, "…and what about you? Why are you helping this fool?"

Both knew she was only teasing, though her face was quite stern looking, particularly the somber guise in her brilliant-blue eyes behind those quick-witted glasses.

"I am merely aiding my efforts to Antonio."

Monaco wasn't very gratified with the response, "But, this is a territorial war between France, England…Prussia and his brother Austria… aren't you friends with those two? England and Austria, I mean."

Athanasia would've stood there and explain to the young one all the complications this was triggering, but alas, she wasn't really in the mood. Instead of answering the exasperating inquiry, she asked again, "Is he inside?"

Monaco was now straightening her ruby-hued bow, eyeing Francis as to say her hair appeared ruined on his account, and answered, "No, he's out in his garden."

Without a goodbye, Athanasia continued up the steps and went into the house. She could hear Francis continuing the conversation with Monaco, but the trifling laughs died away by the time she reached the kitchen. No one was around, to her surprise. She was off down another hall when she heard small ruckus further down another branching hallway.

_It's been so long since I last visited here… and this hou- mansion, it's so big! Too many rooms…hope I don't get lost_, she thought rather childishly. Interested, and glad to be away from Francis for the time being, she walked towards the sound, soon sighting an open lit door to the left. Out of boredom, she went on all fours and crawled to the opening.

She peered in to see what was going on and, predictably, little South Italy was trying to clean up the room. Athanasia couldn't tell what he was tidying up exactly; it seemed the little country made quite a mess instead of cleaning it in the first place.

"Hello, Lovino!" she giggled with a wave. Scared by the exclamation, Lovino dropped the cluttered build-up of papers and cried in fright. When he turned to see Athanasia grinning, on all fours, he instinctively threw whatever was in his reach –which turned out to be nothing but a random euro. It plunked at her forehead and, in sudden hurt, she rubbed where it struck, "Ow… that's not a very nice greeting in return…"

He snatched his petty wooden broom and, once she rose back up to her feet, began beating her with it. His small height, though, lead him to repeatedly hit above her thighs, which wasn't effective. At all. Dust began to rise and Atahanasia wasn't finding his manners suitable, "Lovino, brooms are for cleaning, not battering against ladies."

The little guy cried out, still thrashing the broom back and forth, "What the hell were you doing crawling on the ground? That's creepy-"

Athanasia lifted him up with one arm, at his aprons tied collar. An effortless task, as he squirmed in the air, hollering about to let him down. She was careful not to choke the poor dear and, with a yawn, talked over his whines, "How does Antonio put up with you sometimes? Especially now in the middle of a war?"

"Put me down or I swear I'll-"

"Don't…" she turned suddenly grim, and raised him, dangling and all, to meet her eye level, "…swear something you could never sustain. That's dishonesty, and the last thing I want to hear today is a lie."

He grew intimidated by her cheery smile altering into a harsh glower in a matter of seconds. His silence was enough to convince her, and she let him down gently. The glare vanished, replaced by the guiltless smile, "Well, nice to see you again, Lovino. I'll be staying here for a while so…"

She trailed off and walked out the room, leaving Lovino shaken and bewildered, all at the same time.

Athanasia, relieved to see Francis still chatting with Monaco, continued through the abode 'til she finally found the back outside. The sun was almost completely set, its basking rays dwindling to the mountains beyond the smeary skyline. Before she could call out to her friend, a set of arms wrapped around Athanasia from behind, "Kallistrate!"

Antonio hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth here and there, his warm laughter bubbling the cool nightly air. She really didn't mind Antonio's hugs, "Spain, hello!"

He set her down, that well-known sincere smile set across his face, "Did you make it here okay? And how is your brother?"

She answered with a similar smile, "Heracles is fine, as always. And yes, but Francis tagged along. His out front talking to Monaco…"

Athanasia knew Antonio well enough to see a pang of dejection in his eyes, omitting his zealous gaze, "…In fact, the young one stormed out the door at our encounter, if I remember correctly. What happened?"

He tried to laugh it off, "Oh, nothing to worry about. Let's just say that my recent acts haven't been in her favor much lately."

She didn't press on, "Oh, I see."

As if on cue, the Frenchman came out to the rising starry sky , "-


End file.
